Of HalfBaked Equations
by WeAreTomorrow
Summary: They are TonyandPepper. But he is also IronmanandTony. "Rip the glowing, robot heart out of him and the simple fact remains that he will die." Pepper/Tony. Steve/Tony. Slash. PART IV.
1. Chapter 1

Because so many slash!Tony stories, though I love them dearly, just unfairly sweep their relationship under the rug.

Also, math nerdiness.

* * *

**Of Half-Baked Equations**

**{_the avengers_}**

* * *

There is Tony before Pepper. Then there is TonyandPepper.

It's good, being them without spaces. He's always surrounded by them—spaces.

The consequence of being rich, then of being smarter then all the other rich kids. It's part of being an only child, and then an orphan. It comes with the fame and the trust fund and, of course, the college diplomas.

There is space between Armani leather and his wriggling toes when he tries to slip into his father's shoes.

Pepper doesn't know all of the details but she might, someday. She knows about the space between a glass and a bottle. She knows enough to hold him close when he shakes; that's enough for now.

He thinks he might love her, you know?

But.

There is Tony before Ironman. And then there is isn't.

See, there is no space between his wriggling toes and the smooth metal casing; the suit is his, his alone, and fits him like a second skin. Sometimes, he thinks, it fits better then his first.

_Playboy billionaire philanthropist_, he says but it doesn't taste right.

_Put your suit on_—it's not an answer because Tony wasn't asking questions. It's a command and he obeys.

The metal mask clicks shut in front of his eyes and the world opens.

_Big man in a suit of armor, take that away and what are you?_

You can't.

Rip the glowing, robot heart out of him and the simple fact remains that he will die. There are no take-backs this time, no Tony without the humming of reactor beams and the dizzy rush of flight. There is no Tony without Ironman.

Pepper doesn't know all the details, doesn't know what it feels like when she reaches into his chest, tears streaming down her face. She talks about _before_, with a soft little half-smile.

Sometimes, she talks about _after_.

They are TonyandPepper. But he is also IronmanandTony.

He doesn't know how to fit Pepper into this new calculation. Tough, redheaded Pepper who watches the news obsessively, even when he's home, waiting for the next disaster to strike, trying to predict which crisis will need him next.

He doesn't say, _our relationship_. It's unfair; she's usually right.

See, Pepper fell in love with half of an equation.

But what is a _y _without it's _mx + b_?


	2. Chapter 2

**Of Half-Bake Equations: II**

_**{the avengers}**_

* * *

There's this moment. Yeah, that one.

The one he can't stop thinking about, the one he can't find the mute button for. Everything he does is larger than life, is loud and over the top. This is the way he lives, the way he holds himself together.

It's always the quiet moments that make Tony unravel.

The silence when he calls out in the middle of the night for something beyond explanation. It's the breathlessness before the mask clicks into place. There's an echo where his witty comeback should be; it's a reflex by now but he's unbalanced and misses his cue.

_Put your suit on_—it's not an order but he follows anyway.

Steve likes to watch, his eyes wide open and admiring. Tony shivers, the chinks of his suit ripple and slide into place. If he were a religious kind of man, or maybe an optimistic one, he would think of rebirth and second chances.

It doesn't matter that he isn't because when he opens his eyes he is Ironman.

Steve is still watching him though.

_Can I touch?_—It's not a question he is prepared for.

Pepper is waiting for him at some restaurant. There is no reason that this fact should pop into his head; he has another hour before he has to be there.

_Okay_—later he'll wonder why.

Maybe it's the way Steve asks, unlike the drooling groupies or the half-naked girls with their kinky fantasies. It's not like Pepper either, with tightness in her voice. She touches him with reluctance, forcing herself not to look away.

They all make him feel dirty, one way or another. The guilt is worst, though, and lingers.

_Can I touch?_ Steve asks. Not, _Can I touch it?_

It's this difference that messes him up, that keeps him frozen in one place as Steve reaches out and touches him with a gloved hand. There's something about the slide of leather against metal, something that makes Tony think of second chances.

Steve traces the curve of his suit, fingertips tracing over where his collarbone would be.

Logically, Tony can't feel the touch through his suit. That is the point; he is untouchable. But later, under the dinner table, legs twisted deliciously with Pepper's smooth ones, he presses a hand against the skin and it aches.

It's a moment. Then Steve steps back and it's over.

Whatever, life is full of moments.

Still, it's not the color of Pepper's dress that he remembers the next morning.

* * *

:)


	3. Chapter 3

**Half-Baked Equations: Part III**

_**{the avengers}**_

* * *

He's always thought he was a function.

_Functional?_—Pepper hiccups, the relief and the red wine going to her head. She laughs, with her hair tumbling over her bare shoulders. It's been a few glass too many but when Tony tries to stop her, he can't.

He's waiting for the laughter to turn into tears. It's not a heartbeat moment, not the electric shock of fingertips or the seconds in between _oh_ and _kay_.

It's a backward slide, like the restless tide. He doesn't notice they're treading water until they're pulled under the surface.

Tony kneels in front of her, like he once imagined he would. His hand goes into his suit coat pocket to curl around the little black box. He wants to say her name, say something, so that she will look at him, but his throat closes up.

Pepper is crying now, eyelids swollen and red. Everything in her face puffs up when she cries, as if she was allergic to her own misery.

He might be. The sight of her makes his insides shrivel up.

_I can't do this_—Her bare shoulders tremble, her voice breaking. It's a confession, splintering and bitter, but instead it sounds like she's begging him.

_Pepper_—It aches somewhere deep inside of him, throbbing in his knees and his clenched hand around black velvet. Tony means to beg, because he's a function and he _needs_ her, the x value to his y and who cares about m's and b's when she is_ leaving_ him. Instead, it just sounds like a confession.

She calls a taxi.

Tony doesn't slip the ring into her bag and it's the most selfless thing he's ever done.


	4. Chapter 4

**Half-Baked Equations: Part IV**

**{_avengers_}**

* * *

The thing about a function is that there is only one x value for every given y.

Pepper leaves him.

It's numbing—the silence and the spaces and his distorted reflection at the bottom of another bottle. The emptier they get, the emptier he feels. It's like the glowing robot heart has been ripped out of his chest and when he touches the tattered edges, he wonders if he's dying.

He locks himself away in his suit, behind metal walls to make up for his crumbling defenses.

They don't know that his jaw trembles when he clenches his teeth. They don't know that his vision wavers black around the edges, eyes burning from self-pity and lack of sleep. They can't tell that, underneath, his human hands are shaking when he reaches for the next assignment.

Pepper leaves him but Tony is Ironman now and doesn't let go because he understands consequences. He is selfish and needs her but he is also more then himself.

He thinks Steve might understand. Tony catches him watching sometimes, eyes thoughtful.

Captain America, more then the rest of them, must understand what it is to be a symbol. To lose the outline of yourself as other people color you in. Steve is unmistakably red, white and blue. He wonders if it was always like that, or if Steve ever ran around in bright green shirts before the war.

Tony can picture it, but he's always had a good imagination.

Once, he had this idea. Not really an idea, more of a daydream. There's this little girl with red hair and his eyes, learning how to fly for the first time. She's laughing, demanding to go higher and higher, breathless with happiness and flushed cheeks.

He breathes out and the picture evaporates, silence ringing where the echoes of her laughter should be.

_Tony_—the interruption is only a little unwelcome. He can't remember when they started using each other's first names. Steve is only Captain on the battlefield now; mostly he even follows orders. He argues, but that's just because it's fun.

_You look terrible_—the surprise is enough to make Tony look up. He's in full suit; how would Steve know?

Before he can ask, Steve's hand slips around his wrist.

The sensation is weird. His first reflex is to throw a punch. He is only ever touched in battle now, grabbed and thrown and smashed. Tony tries to remember the last time he's pressed skin to skin, the last time he's felt a beating pulse or the heat of another body.

_Your fists clench__ when you're tired_—Steve presses gently on the joints of his metal knuckles, flattening Tony's hand out against his own palm. Like a thrown switch, the tension evaporates, leaving him with slumped shoulders and weak knees.

He thinks this might be one of those moments again.

Steve lowers him gently into a chair, sensing the cut strings and trembling jaw. Maybe he has all along.

Tony means to say something, to say _thank you_ but when he closes his eyes, the space behind his eyelids is too wonderfully, invitingly dark. He falls asleep, tumbling into the dream headfirst, with the familiar weightlessness of free-fall.

He dreams about math class that night, about the simple equations that are at the heart of everything. Change them and rest of it, all the facts of his life, they topple like dominoes.

The next morning, Tony wakes up in his own bed.


End file.
